Alessandro watched him with a look that was far from patient, dark eyes lingering a second too long as Sage batted his lashes like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. A quiet huff of a laugh left him. “Like that,” he replied simply, tone low and knowing, as if the answer were obvious. He didn’t bother elaborating—Sage already understood. They both did.

When Sage hummed about looking forward to later, Alessandro’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Good,” he said, deliberately casual, though the promise underneath it was anything but. “I’d hate to disappoint.” He turned back to the stove before he indulged the urge to close that distance again, focusing instead on plating the pasta.

He glanced back at Sage when he mentioned exploring the house, eyebrow lifting slightly. “I know,” he said, amused. “Hard to get much sightseeing done when you keep distracting me.” There was no bite to it—just warmth, and something possessive he didn’t bother hiding.

Once they were seated, Alessandro watched him eat with quiet satisfaction, noticing how quickly Sage relaxed into it, how his pace picked up once he realized he liked it. He took his own time, eating slower, eyes drifting back to Sage between bites.

“You look better,” he remarked after a moment, voice softer now. Not just physically—though that too—but more present, more alive. He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying him over the rim of his bowl. “Eat like that and you might convince me you’re letting yourself be taken care of.”

A beat. Then, with a faint smirk, “Careful, though. If you keep finishing that fast, I might start giving you bigger portions…or find other ways to keep you occupied after dinner.”

Alessandro let out a quiet huff of amusement at Sage’s reaction, shaking his head as he stood and began clearing the table. “Yeah, I noticed,” he said dryly, though the fondness in his voice ruined any real bite the words might’ve had. He took the bowls to the sink, rinsing them off with practiced efficiency, glancing back at Sage once or twice like he was making sure he was still there.

Once the kitchen was settled, Alessandro loosened his sleeves and rolled his shoulders, fatigue finally catching up to him. “It’s been a long day,” he said, more to himself than anything, before looking back at Sage properly. “I’m going to shower and turn in.”

He paused, then added, casually—too casually—“You’re welcome to join me, if you want.” His gaze flicked to Sage, unreadable but attentive. “No pressure. Just… figured I’d offer.”

He turned toward the hallway, already unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. “I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he said over his shoulder, tone light, like it was nothing at all. But there was something deliberate in the way he said it, an open invitation wrapped in restraint.

A moment later, he glanced back once more, lips curving faintly. “And for the record,” he added, “being hungry isn’t a crime. But you do tend to work up an appetite.”

Alessandro let out a low, breathless chuckle as Sage finally sagged against him, arms tightening instinctively to keep him upright. He reached up, thumb brushing along Sage’s jaw with an unmistakable softness that hadn’t been there when the water was still hot and everything had been louder.

“Noted,” he murmured, voice rough but warm. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

He reached for a towel, shutting the water off fully before pulling Sage closer again. There was a surprising tenderness in the way he worked, careful and unhurried as he dried Sage off first—pressing the towel against his shoulders, down his arms, along his back. He made sure the necklaces were straightened again, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary at Sage’s collarbone.

“Cold water is where I draw the line,” he agreed quietly, brushing a kiss to Sage’s temple before wrapping another towel around him properly.

Once they were both dry enough, Alessandro scooped Sage up without ceremony, one arm under his knees, the other steady at his back. He didn’t comment on the way Sage fit there, or how natural it felt—he just carried him out of the bathroom and back to Sage's bedroom.

He laid Sage gently on his bed, tugging the covers back and settling him in before pulling them up around him. Alessandro stayed close, sitting on the edge of the mattress, one hand resting lightly over Sage’s ribs, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“I’ll stay,” he said softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “At least until you fall asleep.”

His thumb traced slow, grounding circles where his hand rested. “You’re safe. Just rest.”

Alessandro stood at the stove, flipping thick slices of pancetta in the pan, the rich scent of it mingling with the sharp bite of garlic and rosemary he’d tossed in earlier. The villa kitchen was quiet except for the low crackle of fat and the soft hum of the espresso machine warming up.

Then the air shifted.

It was subtle at first—just a warmer note threading through the cool morning scent of the house. But Alessandro’s alpha instincts snapped awake like a match struck in the dark. Sweet, heavy, unmistakable: omega in heat. Sage’s heat.

He froze for half a second, spatula hovering over the pan. The pheromones rolled in stronger as Sage padded closer, drowsy and disheveled, hair falling loose around his flushed face, baggy pants doing absolutely nothing to hide the faint tremor in his thighs or the way his scent bloomed richer with every step.

Alessandro turned slowly, schooling his expression into something calm, careful. Sage looked…vulnerable. Tired. A little lost. The usual spark in his eyes was dulled by the feverish glaze of heat, and Alessandro’s chest tightened at the sight.

“Morning, tesoro (treasure in Italian),” he said, voice low and steady, even as his pulse kicked hard against his ribs. He set the spatula down and leaned back against the counter, giving Sage space to move toward the coffee maker if he wanted it. “Pancetta, eggs, some roasted tomatoes. Figured you’d wake up hungry.”

His gaze flicked over Sage—cheeks flushed deep rose, skin already glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, lips parted as he yawned. Beautiful. Achingly beautiful. And clearly trying to act like nothing was wrong.

Alessandro’s alpha side growled possessively, urging him to close the distance, press Sage against the counter, bury his face in that heated neck and drown in the scent that was rapidly filling the entire kitchen. But he held himself back. Sage had spent years with an alpha who’d ignored him during his heats, left him to suffer alone. Alessandro wasn’t going to be that.

He reached instead for a glass, filled it with cold water from the fridge, and slid it across the island toward Sage without a word. Then, softer: “You’re warm. Come here—sit.” He nodded to the stool at the breakfast bar, keeping his tone gentle, not commanding. “Tell me what you need, amore (love in Italian). Anything. I’ve got you.”

The words were quiet, but the promise in them was absolute. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. Not ever, if Sage would let him stay.